Disclaimer: I do not own Descendants. I am, however, very excited about Descendants 3: Return of Jafar. Wait, that doesn't sound right...

Chapter 3: Family Business, Part 1

Ben's POV

Ben had a sense of foreboding as the car pulled up to Castle Joyau d'Auradon, the Jewel of Auradon. It wasn't the architecture that unnerved him. The building and grounds were designed to be as inviting as possible. There were towers of gleaming white marble, but most of these towers were squat, with the exception of the high tower in the middle. The windows were wide and inviting, the opposite of normal castle windows, with expansive balconies for guests to relax. Each rounded archway marking an entrance was well lit, to dispel the notion that secret business and illicit meetings were conducted within.

It wasn't the landscaping either. The wide, open trees called to him in invitation. Not that there were any Dryads in there. His father had the groundskeeper cut any trees which threatened to grow tall enough to make one. But something primal pulled him in, begging him to run, to hunt. His new ring burned on his finger, and he was forced to pull his gaze away.

It was his parents. His mother who was hell bent on eradicating any memory of her former "provincial life," including any that might have carried over in her son. And his father who would want to make up for the week's lost time and continue turning Ben into a perfect kingly clone of himself.

Did he love his parents? Of course. The idea of hating his family, his blood, made the ring burn as well. But they could stand to tone down their … help.

The car pulled up to the main entrance, circling the small fountain in front. Small by Auradon royal standards, and therefore still large enough to swim in. There wasn't anyone in the entryway to greet him accept Cogsworth. Ben idly wondered if maybe the man's stint as a timepiece had given him an intuitive sense of when he needed to be somewhere. Despite the fact that, having missed practice, Ben was an hour early, Cogsworth was checking his watch impatiently.

As Ben stepped out the car, the majordomo bowed low, which Ben accepted with a nod of his head. "Your Highness. We were not expecting you quite this early. His and Her Majesty's are in library, if you care to say hello. If not, your room is, of course, ready for you whenever you care to retire."

"Thank you Cogsworth. I think I will go and see them." Ben looked back to check if his driver was getting his bags, then turned back to Cogsworth. The man appeared to be fumbling with his watch, which Ben just now noticed was a much sleeker, modern looking device than what the servant usually wore. It emitted a faint beeping sound, and then the large oaken double doors began to swing open. "Automated?" he asked.

"Indeed sir." The British man puffed up a little with pride. "Just installed this week. It's important that Their Majesty's always appear to be ahead of the times."

"Very impressive. And thank you for getting the door. I know that must be more and more difficult as you're getting older."

Cogsworth's absurdly long mustache tweaked downward in the closest approximation the man had for annoyance. "I can assure His Highness that I am quite young enough to open doors."

"Of course you are." Ben walked into the castle.

Despite having been built to serve as Auradon's capital, Joyau d'Auradon was very similar in layout to his father's former castle, which had itself been converted into Auradon Prep. It was slightly disconcerting to walk through two physically similar but emotionally opposing buildings. It did, however, mean he was almost never lost, despite the size and complexity of the floor plan. He knew exactly which path would take him straight to the library if he wished. But he wasn't ready to rip the bandaid off his welcome yet. Instead he stuck to the windy servant's corridors. This had the added benefit of bringing him into contact with much of the staff, allowing him to waste more time asking about their kids, commenting on new jewelry, praising the cooking, etc.

Finally, when he had delayed enough that it was almost the time he would normally arrive, Ben took an exit to the hall in front of the library. This castle's library was even larger and more grandiose than the school's. It was well known that Queen Belle was an avid bibliophile, and it was almost expected any meeting with her began with the gift of a new book. So despite the literal thousands of square meters in shelving space, the floor of the library was littered with stacks of books in need of categorization and storage.

This had, what Ben suspected, the intentional side effect of making the library something of a maze to navigate. Ben had been crawling around the stacks and shelves since he was out of royal diapers, but someone had been moving books around. His prefered route through the ancient history section was now blocked off by hundreds of volumes of Greek mythology. Weren't those in poetry last week? He thought. Shrugging it off, he backtracked and cut through one of the many shelves of fairy tales to the center where he knew his parents would be.

In the sea of haphazard books, his parents' desks were an island of, well, a different kind of chaos. While they both had official studies in the administrative wing of the castle, the king and queen prefered the quiet comfort of working side by side in the library. The rich oaken furniture was on the small side for royal work, but the desks were placed back to back so the jumbled mess of papers could be pushed back and forth between the two as needed.

It was mesmerizing to watch his parents work. Ben remembered when he was little, he had sat for hours staring at their incredible coordination. His father knew the policies and laws better than anyone, and as King was the final arbiter on which new laws were signed into effect, and which old laws needed to be amended. His mother was the wordsmith, her love of books giving her unmatched written eloquence. As such, she was responsible for writing the speeches, the thank-you letters, replies to petitioners, and the like.

But Belle needed to know the nuances of the particular political climate, and Adam needed to ensure the writing of the law matched the intent. So, letters and laws were passed back and forth, scribbled with margin notes and editorial comments. They never talked while they were working, the room was silent but for the hypnotic, and harmonic, scratch of pens on paper, but they could clearly communicate priority and importance without a single spoken word.

Ben once thought to suggest they use computers and a more modern system of document crafting, but he had promptly admonished himself for wanting to destroy something so beautiful.

His approach was from behind his mother; when his father glanced up at the movement, Ben bowed in greeting, then put a finger to his lips. He snuck up behind her, his lack of sneaking skills compensated by her engrossment in her letter. Not wanting to ruin her work, Ben waited until she was no longer writing to wrap her in a hug.

His mother jumped a little at the unexpected contact, but once she realized it was him, she turned in his chair and returned the hug. "Benjamin! You're back early." He gestured over her shoulder towards the clock on her desk, which had just turned to ten past six. Without missing a beat, his mother said, "Benjamin, you're back late."

"Yes. Your delinquent son, returned home ten minutes late. I was thinking about going out with my gang, paint all the limos bright pink, maybe hold hands with a girl other than Audrey." He let what he knew to be a dorky grin cross his face.

"Then it is a good thing we don't throw people onto Calignis for first time, minor offenses, son," his father snarked back. "But if you do it a second time." He shook his finger in jest.

And what about turning into a monster Father? What's the punishment for a first time offense there? Ben bit back his comment and did his best to give a natural smile.

"Before you go out and disappoint us, there are some things I want to show you." His father gestured towards the papers on his side of the desk. "I want your opinion on how to resolve a trade disagreement."

Ben had been expecting this. Another one of his father's tests, to see how capable he was of running the country. But the prince was still feeling somewhat shaken from his earlier experiences, and did not trust himself to be able to discern what answers his father would want. He decided that now would be the time tell them he was quitting the team. Even with Helmine's magic ring, there was still too much of a risk of it getting broken or lost on the field. He wanted to avoid that threat of … changing skin, as Helimine had put it, in front of his classmates if at all possible. And distracting them with that news would give him more time to recover.

"Speaking of responsibilities father, there's something I need to tell you." Ben took a short breath, which he knew his parents could see, but was small enough to pretend they wouldn't. "I've decided to resign my position on the Tourney team."

The ghost of a smile disappeared from his father's face, to be replaced with the furrowed brow, stern frown, and piercing glare of the High King. "Why?"

Even knowing it was coming, the question was still a punch to the gut. Ben had already scripted his response; he had to convey his desire to accept more responsibility, without suggesting he was incapable of meeting it. "I have decided that it is unfair to my teammates, and my country, to continue to divide my time between my hobby and my station. As their captain, and their prince, it is my job to set an example of leadership, and I feel they would be best served to be informed of my priority of commitments now, than to be forced to discover it when I inevitably choose the duties of my birth over the duties of my sports." Through it all, Ben forced himself to keep eye contact as much as possible. It would have been painful even if he was telling the full truth. Under current circumstances it was almost excruciating.

There was a long pause, during which Ben hardly dared to breath. Finally, his father asked, "Have you told your team?"

"No. I wanted to inform you first."

"Good. Then we will discuss this over dinner." High King Adam rose and stormed out of the room.

The moment his father was out of sight, his mother stood and placed a hand on Ben's shoulder. In her gentle voice she said,"You know your father doesn't mean anything by that. He worries about you."

"I know mother. I know he cares, but sometimes he has an odd way of showing it."

She actually laughed. "Yes. We've been fighting his temper as long as I have known him." "We've." As though his father's temper was a separate entity which they had to fight together. She had to turn her head up to look him in the eye. "What's really going on Ben? You can tell me."

He wished he could, but his parents were almost one person. Anything he told one of them, the other would know within minutes. So he had planned his response to her as well, knowing his exact words would be reported to his father. "I am afraid. I'm afraid I'll disappoint father, and afraid I'll disappoint my team. I only have three months left, and I know he's expecting me to do more to prepare. I can't let him down, but I don't want to be torn between him and my friends." Everything he said was true of course, even if it wasn't the primary reason.

His mother pulled him in another hug. "I'm sorry dear. I know the feeling. I don't think your father understands as well, because, well…" She trailed off, but Ben knew what she was talking about. The miseries of his father's childhood were established history. "But I remember what it was like when I became his queen. It was quite a shock." She bit her lower lip, an exaggerated display of thought. "I will talk to your father, and see if he can compromise. I think it is good for you to stay on the team because it is good for you to be tested, but perhaps they should make an allowance when you have other duties." Then she was off after her husband. Ben was left alone with the books.

Once he was sure she was gone, Ben began looking over the papers spread across his parents' desk. He had no doubt that once his father had calmed down, he would begin quizzing Ben on current events and solutions to the trade argument. And as the man himself had told him, forewarned is forearmed.

There weren't any surprises to be found. Requests for trade renewals, disputes over internal borders, petitions by a guild to monopolize a particular market, petitions by a rival guild to deny monopoly… The usual problems passed on up to the king so lower ranking officials wouldn't feel the ire of those harmed by the final decision. Almost all of the papers he could see pertained to France alone, not Auradon as a whole. That was the beauty of the Council. Each king or queen handled their internal problems within the guidelines of the overarching Council laws. The only documents of international significance which he might find on his father's desk were disputes on foreign trade or ….

Wait. Tucked away so only a portion of the top line was visible was a document that started: Petition to Allow Fairy … The rest of the title, and indeed the contents of the document, were hidden by the rest of the papers. Allow Fairy what? Ben thought. He had reached out his hand to pull the document from the rest, when he caught himself. Technically he was not supposed to read them without his father's permission, and he did not trust himself to be able to put everything back well enough that the man couldn't notice.

Still, he was curious. Despite interacting with two of the Fey, the Headmistress and Jane, almost daily, Ben knew very little about the race. He wasn't close friends with Jane, and other than classes and being assaulted with silver, he didn't speak with the Headmistress often. If there were books on them in either the school or castle libraries, he had yet to find them.

He stared at the page, and felt like it was taunting him. Allow Fairy public use of magic? Allow Fairy immigration from Neverland to be unrestricted? Allow Fairy public officers in Fey districts? Allow Fairy's to cartwheel naked through the streets on alternate Saturdays? Any of them could be the answer (except possibly the last one). Finally Ben was forced to tear his eyes away. If he stayed here any longer, the temptation would become too strong. He had to get ready for dinner, and for whatever his father's compromise would be.


While Queen Belle typically followed her husband's lead when it came to public matters, in the privacy of their own castle she was the undisputed ruler of the roost. And when there were no guests to entertain or dignitaries to impress, she insisted that mealtimes take on a more intimate, "family dinner" style. Of course her departure from her provincial roots insisted that the meals be multicourse, prepared by the usual kitchen staff, and served with the proper decorum. "Family dinner" to her simply meant a smaller table in a smaller dining room, and the participants did not have to be as formally dressed. Ben and his father had both traded suits and slacks for polo shirts and khakis, while Belle had exchanged her formal gown for a sundress. The quality of service was still kilometers above what the general Auradon population was used to, but at least it didn't make Ben sick with ostentatious display.

The family dinning room was small, roughly four meters on each side, and decorated with only the minimal required quantity of marble busts and familial paintings. There were three doors, one ornate oak entrance on the west wall for the the family, and two servant's doors designed to blend seamlessly into the east wall. The room was illuminated by gold gilded chandelier, made to look like it carried candles, but actually using electricity. It was even set to have the lights flicker gently at random intervals to enhance the effect. The walls were painted a deep blue, and all of the fixtures and switches were a golden yellow. The table, more than a square meter of varnished wood, was covered in a similarly colored tablecloth, and set with fake candelabra and appetizers of bread.

Ben had timed his arrival perfectly, and only had to stand by his chair for a minute before his parents arrived. He exchanged stiff nods with his father, and a warmer smile with his mother, before the three of them took their seats.

Dinner was cold in the beginning. Not the food; the bread was still fresh from the oven. It was the atmosphere of the room that was chilly. Neither Ben nor his mother moved to make conversation during the first two courses. They deferred to the king to know when the time was right to address the tap dancing elephant in the room. They were well into the main course (Confit de canard), before Adam spoke.

The king wiped his mouth and fixed Ben with a stern gaze. "So you plan on quitting the team." It was not a question, and it was stated as casually as one might declare they were planning an execution.

Ben cleared his throat, and returned his fork, halfway to his mouth, to the plate. "Yes father."

"And what were your reasons again?" This time it was a question, although it was obviously one his father already knew the answer to. This was a test of consistency, checking for lies by ensuring the story was the same with each telling. Fortunately the story Ben picked was at least partially true, making it easier to remember the details.

"As your son, my first and most important responsibility is to the country, its people, and its king. In the past, this interest was best served at school, where I not only gained extensive knowledge of our history and customs, but also the respect and loyalty of my peers on the tourney field. Now, we are three months away from me joining you as co-king of France. I think the best use of my time would be studying the finer details of the kingdom, and the ins and outs of running it. In that endeavor, tourney practice would only serve as a distraction." The entire time, Ben forced himself make casual eye contact with each of his parents. He did his best to keep his movements casual and conversational, as though he were just a son explaining himself to his father, and not a monster hiding from his king.

"And do you," Adam replied, his expression not softening in the slightest, "think that you will retain the respect and loyalty of your peers when you quit your obligations to them in the middle of the season?"

"I won't tell them that I am quitting the team," Ben said with perfect, outward calm. "I will present it to them as an opportunity to step up and prove how much they have learned from me."

"So you will lie to them about you motivations. Is dishonesty a trait you value in your leaders?" Adam's eyes bored into Ben.

Every curse he knew flashed through Ben's mind in an instant. The ring burned like a sun on his finger. It was lucky he had already rested that hand in his lap, because he reflexively clenched his fist in pain. He wanted to take a deep breath, spend a moment to calm himself, but he knew it would just cemement his guilt in his father's mind. Instead he had to push onwards, and pray to whichever god governed speaking that he said the right things.

"It is not a lie. It is the truth. Or, at least the portion on the truth they need to hear. As a leader, I want all of the information so I can make the best decision. But I know when instructing your followers, one must often filter out the information they do not need, to prevent them from taking the wrong actions. I know you do not tell me everything, father, and I do not begrudge you for it, because I know you do it out of love and a desire to see me grow." He said all of this faster than he wanted. Ben told himself it was to get all the truth out before his father could question it, but in reality he thought the more words he said the more likely it was he would convince them.

The queen frowned at the notion of intentionally withholding information, but his father nodded and his frown lessened somewhat. "Then it would appear you have learned something. Perhaps it is not my favorite lesson, and I think you miss some of the nuance, but you are nevertheless correct." Finally his expression broke into a smile. "Maybe we'll make a king out of you yet son."

Ben allowed himself a very gentle sigh of relief; he was about to thank his father for the compliment, when his mother spoke up. "Be that as it may, are you certain in this particular instance, this particular creative truth is the correct one? Are you so certain that you have to leave the team that you can justify it?"

Adam looked at his wife and Ben thought he saw a hint of a smile on his father's face. "A good point dear." He turned back to Ben. "Are you suggesting that your duties here are already too much for you to divide your time?"

The string of swears returned, this time with friends. "Of course not father. This is a preemptive measure. 'Pulling off the bandaid,' as the phrase goes."

"So you do anticipate it?" His father pressed.

Ben made a very dramatic show of sighing heavily. "Shouldn't a wise king prepare for the worst in case it comes? I do not know the full extent of my abilities, nor do I know the full extent of the responsibilities I may be called upon to fulfill. Is it not better to prepare now for the day, whether or not it may come, when I must choose between my team and my country?"

"A man that prepares for war, often finds that he precedes it." Ben started to reply, but his father held up a hand for silence. "This sets a precedent Benjamin. Is this how you would rule? Flitting from one responsibility to another, neglecting those you wish not to have?"

There was a pause, which Ben took as an opening to respond. "In the future, none of my responsibilities are likely to involve my hurling myself at my peers and chasing balls for three hours a day."

"No, but it may involve meetings, or giving speeches, for quite a bit more than three hours a day. What will you do when your public appearances clash with your private responsibilities?"

"We will be co-kings, father," Ben reminded. "Gods willing we will rule together for a long count of years. And when it is your time to cross the river, I will have a wife, to work alongside me as you and mother do for each other."

Belle spoke this time, disrupting the glares the men were giving each other. "So you would make your wife take on the responsibilities you find distatefull?"

The realization of their true concerns almost made Ben laugh. "Mother, I'm not walking away from something I hate. I'm giving up something I love."

The tension, which had been almost palpable, dissipated almost immediately. His father actually laughed, a loud bark of a laugh which set the rest of them off. By the time the eclairs were brought in they were all chatting amiably.

I am sorry about the lateness of this chapter. To make it up to you all, chapter 4 will be posted... tomorrow! So don't go sacrificing me to Hades just yet. Or, ever, if it can helped.